The fit young man stood in the middle of the enormous, empty stone walled room which had a grand yet mysterious, gloomy aura that hung over it. The torches hung on the walls gave out wavering flames which cast dancing shadows that decorated the dimly lit room.

He stood perfectly still in silence, with his head bowed in respect.

A man fully cloaked in black steadily rose from his throne at the end of the room. He had eyes of the coldest ice, and a glare that would penetrate through anything with a slightest glance. He made his way down slowly towards the young man.

“Kill her at midnight.” The man stated in a deep sinister voice. The voice alone rang with evilness and sent out icy vibes, which could make even the coldest-blooded person shudder in fear. But to the young man, it was just another order. He held out a small photo.

The young man took it, and the faint light from the torches by the side of the room swept briefly across the face on the photo. His grip tightened. His eyes dilated and all blood in him froze. He felt his heart jerk out of place for a split second. A face of a young girl’s, familiar to the young man.

He looked back up at the cloaked man, the one who took him under his wing since he was a child when his heart was broken, the one who gave him years of cold, hard training, and also one of the very few people whom he trusted fully.

He stared back down. Dropping the photo to the floor, he turned his back to the cloaked man and headed towards the door silently, in resentment.

“A professional assassinator does his job without mixing any emotions in it. And I, as your master, have taught you well. You will obey me, my young successor.” The cloaked man growled. His voice flooding the room with creepiness.

It had stopped the young man abruptly in his steps for a few seconds. His fists clenched.

He continued his way out the door.

That night, the young assassinator sat alone in his dark cell room, with his back turned against the window. The room’s only source of light—the luminous moonlight—shone through. He gripped hard on the handle of his weapon, and ran his scarred fingers slowly down the deadly blade. The cold hard metal stung him.

He painfully recalled his master’s every single word.

Forbidden for anyone to see, a tear silently crept down his cheeks.

Stealthily without any sound, he pranced in and out of the shadows that hid him, like an easy dance he knew all too well. With lightning speed, he made his way to his target for the night.

Tonight’s mission will scar him like never before, unlike any other wounds that lives in his flesh, a cut which will sting so much worse than burning him alive.

He stood before the young girl who was now in lying peacefully in deep slumber. She looked so beautiful under the moonlight. It would probably be the last form of light she might ever feel upon her warm, delicate skin.

The young assassinator locked his heart, and raised his weapon into position.

He loved her.

And finished her off with silently with a deadly throat slice.